Three Down, Six to Go
by Little Cinch
Summary: 'Blood pounded in Daryl's ears as he raced back toward the cell block with a miracle in his arms.' A brief look at Carol's rescue from the tombs.


**I don't haunt Tumblr, but I skimmed once briefly through the USS Caryl, and I saw this from all-the-bliss: "I'm soooo curious to know the story behind that 'nine lives remember?' line." So this is what came from that. Maybe a little obvious, but whatever.**

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Blood pounded in Daryl's ears as he raced back toward the cell block with a miracle in his arms.

His heart had stopped beating two days ago when he'd first seen her scarf and gun on the ground next to T-Dog's mutilated body. He didn't want to believe it, but when they didn't find her...he'd had to acknowledge that Carol was gone. After struggling for two days to hold back the flood of pain that her death brought him, he'd found her knife lodged in the jaw of a walker. Knowing she'd gone down fighting made him proud, but knowing she'd gone down at all was killing him. The pain he didn't know how to handle turned into rage. _That_ he knew what to do with. He'd thought when he opened that door in solitary that he would be confronting his worst nightmare – the face of the woman he...cared for twisted into that of a monster. But when he found her filthy, beautiful, _living_ face peering up at him from the floor instead, his heart came to life again, pumping adrenaline-laced fire through his veins.

He'd quickly checked for bites and broken bones before gently scooping her up and rushing toward the cells. She was alive, but he knew she was in rough shape. She'd wrapped her arms around his neck when he picked her up, but he didn't think she was awake anymore. So far she hadn't spoken a word, and that sent fear shooting through him. He made up for her silence as he ran, murmuring reassuring words in her ear to let her know he was there and she was safe, hoping to keep her focused on staying with him. Staying alive. He didn't think about what he said – couldn't remember any of it – and part of him wondered if he was saying more than he should. He didn't care, as long as she stayed alive.

The cell block was empty when he arrived, which was strange, but he didn't have time to wonder or worry. He quickly deposited her onto the first empty bed he came to and dashed out to grab a bottle of water. Kneeling at the side of the bunk, he reached out to cradle her face in his hands, patting one cheek gently.

"Hey, darlin', wake up! We need to get some water in you. You'll feel better if you drink something. Can we sit you up a little?"

Her eyes opened briefly to focus on his face. They closed again right after, but she nodded. He reached up to grab the pillow and blanket from the top bunk before slipping an arm behind her shoulders to shift her forward. He tucked the bedding behind her to prop her up enough to be able to swallow a little water without choking. With one hand on her face, he pressed the water bottle to her cracked lips, letting her reach up to tip it enough to take a drink. After the first sip, she tried to gulp down more, but he pulled the water away.

"Can't have too much at once – make you sick. Give it a minute, then you can have s'more."

He sat on the bunk with her, giving her sips of water every now and again until she recovered enough to hold the bottle herself. He knew he should go find Hershel, but couldn't bring himself to leave her alone.

"Are you OK? Are you hurt?" he asked when she seemed more aware of what was happening.

"I'm OK now that you found me," she rasped, eyes open now and fixed on his own. Her face crumpled then, and he knew tears would have welled if she weren't so terribly dehydrated. "T...T-Dog died helping me. And I thought I was dead, too."

"You're gonna be fine! Everything's gonna be all right now!" His need to reassure her outweighed any inhibitions he would normally have. He held her hand tightly and stroked her hair and face, knowing deep down that it was as much to comfort and reassure himself as it was for her benefit.

Then he chuckled in spite of himself. "But Jesus, you gotta cut this out – you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days. You're a damn magnet for trouble."

She smiled weakly and pressed her cheek into his hand. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be trouble."

He rolled his eyes. "Shit, woman, that ain't what I meant! You just can't be havin' so many close calls is all. Even cats only got nine lives."

"Think I must be down to at least, what, six by now?" A hint of her usual humor sparkled in her tired eyes. It made him want to gather her up and keep her safe in his pocket forever. But instead, he quirked a half-smile.

"Somethin' like that," he mumbled.

A sudden ruckus in the common room caught his ear. No clue what was happening, but it must have been something big judging from all the shouting.

"Better go see what's goin' on. Need to find Hershel – have him take a look at you. Now, can I leave you alone for five minutes without you tryin' to get yourself killed?"

She doubled a fist and punched him weakly in the leg, scowling at him. "Very funny."

He caught her fist and pressed her knuckles to his lips. "I just need you to stay safe."

"Nine lives," she replied with a soft smile.

"Nine lives." He stood then and left the cell to bring the others to see the miracle he'd found.


End file.
